Literally Liar
by MochaCocaFan
Summary: I just don't even know. A case crosses international borders, and a victim decides to take back control, once and for all. Rated for extremely creepy stuff.


It was very dark outside.

Tonight was notable in that she was just cuffed to the sink, not tied up, in a straightjacket, or in the basement. She took note of the rippling pain in her side- it was going to rain soon, then. She paused and evaluated her situation. The sweatpants were heavy but warm, the shirt was adequate for cover, and her hoodie was five feet away. She began to wriggle against the cuff, twisting and reaching for the apple core-er on the island counter, using the bladed inside to cut just above the wrists. Using the blood as a lubricant, she ignored the stinging pain until she was free of the cuffs. Then she tiptoed, heart pounding, until she was near the door. It took no time at all for her to unlock it, but some of the locks were so old and rusty that her fingers bled. No matter.

She shoved the pain to the back of her mind and began to run.

* * *

The BAU was rather quiet at seven. Most people who had just come in were still waiting for the caffeine to kick in, and many weren't there yet. Therefore, when Aaron Hotchner's desk phone rang in a request, he was slightly annoyed. However, listening to the details made his professional profiler interest kick in, and he called in the rest of his team- including Penelope Garcia.

* * *

On the jet, the assorted agents were curious as to why Hotch had told them they were going to need more clothes than usual.

"There have been fifteen bodies found over thirty years scattered around Great Britain. The newest victim turned up alive at a police station three hours ago in West Yorkshire. We're being invited in because the latest victim is an American citizen."

JJ clicked on her remote as she talked, showing them pictures of elaborately mutilated corpses.

Garcia was the first to break the silence. "We're going to Britain?"

* * *

She curled up on the warm hospital bed and had a strange dream.

It wasn't a nightmare, not really. She dreamed that she was a robot secretly, and was repairing her insides, in a warm cottage, in front of the fireplace. She could smell mutton cooking the oven the next room over, and the peppermint aroma of tea. While there were many odd things about this dream, the oddest was the cat. There was a cat there with her, also a robot, who was cuddling on her neck. And kept changing colors.

She was slowly pulled out of her dream by arguing voices. She knew what arguments sounded like- the last one and the Thing had argued quite often. Sleepily, she focused on their voices and did not open her eyes. She wasn't risking anything at all.

"She's not in stable enough condition-"

"Your report listed few recent physical injuries-"

"Not going to let you badger her just so you can look better to your superiors-"

She wished they would stop arguing. Despite her best efforts, her heart was starting to race. The people didn't notice until one of them, a new voice, came around and told them that she was awake. Her heart skipped a beat in fear, but she held her body still and relaxed, wishing to God she could just open her eyes. But since she had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do, she fell back on earlier social protocols, and one of the most important was not to presume that she was allowed to do things, even basic things like opening her mouth and swallowing.

There was a sound like somebody was sitting down in a chair, and then the voice said, "Is it okay if we ask you a few questions?"

Her brain froze. She almost reeled in shock. Her opinion- her honest opinion- was being asked. Vaguely, she wondered if it was a trick question, and decided to answer honestly, because frankly, she was so utterly confused that she couldn't apply logic here. She needed feedback on that course of action to evaluate it. She hadn't been given permission to speak, so she nodded.

There was a pause, and then, "Can we get you anything, something to eat or drink?"

She was fairly certain by now that the feeling of her head exploding was going to become disturbingly familiar. Again, nodding, this time twice. She was parched and hungry. And wouldn't mind going to the bathroom.

"I'll get it." Murmured the non-doctor voice, and two sets of footsteps left the room.

* * *

Hotch and Reid had come to interview the victim, although, on further reflection, one of the female agents would have been a better choice to complement Reid. Never matter. Reid refocused on her.

She was small- tiny, as a matter of fact- and painfully thin. According to the physical examination, she hadn't been malnourished as far as vitamins and minerals went, but had been barely fed normal food. She would most likely have a small, easily upset stomach. Or not. She might have adapted to keep down whatever food she could get in the first place.

"My name is, uh, Spencer Reid. I'm with the FBI. What's your name- do you remember it?" She had come up as an American citizen on the Interpol database, but somebody had deleted her name and information besides nationality.

She nodded.

Okay, so literalism- the UNSUB might be a power-rapist type (though not literally- the rape kit came up negative) who enjoyed controlling his victim's every decision and action, including whether to talk or not. He decided to run with that model.

"You can, uh, look at me if you want." Her eyes instantly snapped open. They were a very pale, icy shade of blue. Combined with her chalk-white skin and white-blonde hair, he wondered if she was an albino. Her facial structure was very Native American, however. "And talk. If you'd like to."

Looking baffled, she just stared at him. Then his logic kicked in once more. "What was your name?"

Unhesitatingly, she replied, "Leanan. L-Lea for short-t-t."

A stutter? Not surprising. "Do you remember your life before being abducted?"

"Yes. Somewhat. It's not very clear."

Reid knew the feeling, albeit only in relation to his very early childhood memories.

"Could you tell me about it?"

"Yes."

Reid shoved down frustration. Literalism had probably been beaten into her. "Tell me about your life before being abducted."

She shuddered involuntarily. "I didn't have one."

Horror.


End file.
